


baby you're a wreck (alternatively: peter hates being shot)

by noxes



Series: the second family (the one that understands) [2]
Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Gwen Is a Good Bro, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Miles Morales Has Anxiety, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Peter B. Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family, Whump, listen i needed some miles emotional whump, miles ended up getting whumped too lmao, no seriously gwen is AWESOME, peter b acts like a total dad and it's cute, spiderfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-10-15 01:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxes/pseuds/noxes
Summary: Everything goes wrong.(Peter gets shot while busting an alleged convenience store robbery.Miles doesn't want to lose any more loved ones.Gwen worries about them both.)





	1. parallels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spiderboyneedsahug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderboyneedsahug/gifts).



> this fic is in response to a prompt asking for peter b whump, and it's gonna be multi-chaptered lads woooooo
> 
> so obviously, me being a piece of found-family trash and a sucker for hurt/comfort, i accidentally emotionally whumped miles too.
> 
> (after all, losing spider-man and his uncle must have left him with some bad memories.)

It should have been so easy.

 

It was just an average hold-up, a situation they dealt with every day. Bunch of idiots trying to rob a convenience store. There were an unusually large number of guys for such a small robbery, but whatever, right? 

 

It quickly stopped being “whatever” when one of them fired off a glowing projectile at Ham, nearly knocking him out the the sky. The guy was holding something that looked like a cross between a massive taser and a rocket launcher, and the end of it spat and crackled with energy

 

Lovely. A set-up. Evidently, these guys had been  _ hired by somebody _ to try and lure the Spider-Team out. They weren’t run-of-the-mill thugs, they were hardened assassins, with all kinds of nasty weaponry.

 

Of course, they weren’t counting on Peni having her mech fixed, or on Noir pulling a fucking  _ gun _ on them (“...is that a  _ revolver?! _ They said these assholes used non-lethal force!”), and everything seemed to be going okay until Peter got shot.

 

They were webbing up the last few, relieved and flushed with their success when suddenly Miles’ spidey sense went off like a firehouse alarm and scared the living daylights out of him. 

 

Normally, his spidey sense was a mere tickle at the back of his neck. At most, a sharp pain, like a sudden headache. Sometimes it was even a welcoming hum, a quiet alert to let him know when one or more of the spider-people were near. 

 

This was nothing like that. 

 

This  _ hurt _ . It  _ screamed _ . Miles’ whole head felt like it was about to burst into flame. Chills prickled up and down his skin and sweat beaded on his forehead. His vision tunneled, static shifting around the edges of his consciousness. And underneath it all, the constant ring of  _ danger _ . Like someone was yelling for him to look out.

 

In the aftermath, Miles could not stop beating himself up. He could maybe be forgiven if he turned too slowly, like the rest of the team. But he didn’t. He turned in time to see the gun (just a regular gun, so small, so simple), aimed at Peter’s back, before it fired. He could have stopped it from happening. Could have webbed the gun up, pulled it away, stopped it from happening but he didn’t because he was scared. 

 

Because he was  _ scared _ . Because for a flashing second, the man holding the gun wasn’t a nameless, faceless man anymore, but the massive, hulking form of the Kingpin. Peter wasn’t Peter, he was Aaron, raising his clawed hands in what almost looked like a gesture of supplication, back exposed to the weapon. Because the gun did not change, was still a pistol pointed squarely at his mentor’s back. 

 

His mentor. Not Aaron. Peter.  _ Peter.  _

 

Miles had hesitated. The man had tensed. The gun had raised a bit higher. 

 

Miles had come unfrozen too late and had screamed,  _ “Peter, look out!!” _

 

Peter’s spidey sense must have also been going off, because he moved, but he moved too slow.

 

The gun went off. Peter crumpled. 

  
\--

 

So. Now Miles is here. Sitting on May’s couch, in her living room, doing what he does best, apparently: letting the people he loves down. Letting them die. 

 

Peter is in the other Peter’s old bedroom with the other spiders and May, bleeding all over his dead counterpart’s sheets. They work ceaselessly, trying desperately to save him. 

 

Miles already knows the outcome. He knows what’s going to happen. 

 

Someone will come out of the room. They will sit next to him. They will try to find a nice way to tell him that he’s let another Spider-Man die (except Miles hadn’t cared about the fact that Peter is Spider-Man when the gun went off, did he? He hadn’t thought of Spider-Man, he’d been thinking of his uncle Aaron, the guy who functioned as his second father for years and  _ nope he’s not thinking about that he’s not he’s not) _ . 

 

So Miles sits and he waits for them to come and tell him these things, and then try to tell him it’s not his fault. Or maybe they  _ will _ say it’s his fault. Maybe they will condemn him, shame him, turn him away. Knowing them, though, they won’t. They’ll probably sit with him, try to make him talk to them, try to take the blame off his shoulders.

 

He doesn’t know which is worse.


	2. thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles waits. Gwen comes out to talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo o o BOY i do love me some good emotional whump :)))))))

An hour passes, then two, then thirteen minutes into the third hour, the door clicks and Gwen steps out.

 

Miles’ shoulders, already pulled tense from waiting, immediately jump up around his ears. He wants to look into her eyes and grab her shoulders and beg her to tell him whether Peter made it, even though Miles knows he didn’t. He doesn’t do this. He stares at the floor, shoulders pulled tight, back hunched, twisting his fingers, painfully aware of the fact that his feet don’t touch the floor.

 

Gwen notices this, crossing the room and kneeling in front of Miles, staring into his face until he looks at her. She takes his hands and says, “He’s okay.”

 

Miles looks up quickly. “What? But he got…”

 

“It was touch and go for a bit there,” Gwen concedes. “But once we got the bullet out and stitched him up, he fell asleep.”

 

“He passed out?”

 

“No. He fell _asleep._ ” Gwen grins, showing off her gaptooth. The smile is full of mingled relief and exhaustion and residual fear—and a glimmer of humor. “Big goofball.”

 

Miles tries to smile back, but judging from the way Gwen’s expression falters, he doesn’t quite make it.

 

“How are you holding up, dude?” she says, rising from her place in front of him and plopping down next to him on the couch instead. Miles forces back the lump in his throat and tries for casual.

 

“Ah, you know, I’m-I’m good. Fine. Great,” he stammers. _Smooth, Morales._ “I mean, I’m, uh, doing better than him, right?” And he makes a weak gesture towards dead Peter’s room, where B is sleeping.

 

 _Dear lord, just kill yourself already. What kind of a comparison was that? The guy nearly_ died _, and you made a joke like_ that?

 

Miles mentally gives himself a shake. _Bad thoughts. Bad intrusive thoughts. Go to your corner._ To his surprise, Gwen is laughing a little.

 

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, he’s definitely been better.” She means it in a joking manner, he knows. He knows Peter is gonna be alright, but it takes every shred of self-control he has to keep his weak smile on his face. Unfortunately, Gwen still notices.

 

“Hey, I mean, he’s been _worse,_ too,” she says, putting a hand on Miles’ shoulder and giving him a little shake. “He’s Spider-Man, after all. He’s been Spider-Man for twenty-two years. He’s probably had worse days.”

 

Miles nods. Gwen sighs. There’s a longish silence. She breaks it first.

 

“How are you feeling?” she asks tentatively. “I mean, _really_. No jokes. You doing alright?”

 

Miles goes to nod, then shake his head, then gets caught in the middle and ends up doing a noncommittal shrug.

 

“Do you wanna...talk about it? Maybe?” Gwen ventures. She’s looking at him, head tilted to the side like a bird. He wilts under her gaze.

 

Miles thinks about the snapshot of the moment when it happened. He thinks about the gunman, his face hidden behind a black balaclava, eyes sharp and glittering. He thinks about the gun, the sun glinting coldly off the sleek black barrel, the weight and heft obviously comfortable in the gunman’s hands. He thinks about his team, his big spider-family, all frozen in the act of turning around, spidey senses ringing, too slow to warn or save Peter.

 

Peter’s masked face, white eyes going impossibly wide. The hole in his side, blood flowing, gushing in a blaze of red, red that was just a shade darker than his suit.

 

Miles thinks of all the words piling up inside him, all the apologies and explanations, all the bad thoughts, as well as the ever-increasing problem of the insistent lump in his throat and his stinging eyes.

 

Miles looks up. He meets Gwen’s eyes. He smiles.

 

“Nah,” he says. “I’m good.”

\--

Gwen doesn’t believe him.

 

Of course she doesn’t. She sees something settle in his expression, something far worse than grief or guilt. Something broken and empty.

 

The smile that he gives her is too easy, too hollow. His eyes are dark and very far away. He seems to be looking through her.

 

Miles gets up off the couch and heads for the bathroom.

 

For the first time, Gwen starts to think that maybe something’s going on with Miles, something bigger than just this one incident. Something on the inside.

 

And she finds herself unaccountably scared for her friend.

\--

Miles locks himself in the bathroom. He stares into his own eyes and sees all their darkness and pain and _shame_. Then he sits on the ground with his back against the wall and starts to cry.

 

He cries until he’s sick, he cries until tears no longer come, he cries until every sob is painful and tearing on his throat and in his chest.

 

Then Miles stares at the wall for a while. Then he gets up, drinks a cup of water, splashes water on his face, and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))) lmao whoopsie!


	3. hologram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up and immediately wants out, and Noir and Peni are cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen im a hoe for parental figures first, a robert downey jr stan second, and a human being third. couldn't resist sliding some dadnoir in here. >:D

Peter  _ hates _ being shot. 

 

He glowers at Noir, who’s sitting on an armchair against the wall, one leg crossed over the other and humming slightly. Peni’s here too, asleep and leaning on Noir’s leg. His gloved hand touches her hair, tentatively stroking the top of her head, like he’s afraid he’ll break her, and his other hand holds a thick book. 

 

Peter doesn’t care  _ how _ cute they look. He’s got an objective, and Noir’s in the way of his objective, which is Leaving This Fucking Bed. Other Aunt May left Noir here not only to keep Peter from dying or seizing or whatever, but also to keep him from trying to get up too soon. 

 

“‘Ey, Noir,” he groans. “Lemme outta here, willya? Help a fellow Peter out, yeah?”

 

Noir delicately turns a page. “Sorry, kid, no can do,” he says in his rough Brooklyn accent. “You gotta stay down until May gives you the okay.”

 

He frowns at Peter over his glasses. “Also, you’re slurring like a boozehound. ”

 

“Firs’ of all,” Peter mumbles drunkenly. “Don’ call me ‘kid.’ I dunno exactly how old you are, but you’re...deeeefinitely…at leas’ a few years younger than me.”

 

“He calls everybody ‘kid’,” Peni mumbles sleepily without opening her eyes. “S’not a child-only phrase.”

 

The look that Noir shoots her is a mix between exasperated, affronted, and achingly fond. It’s a surprisingly familiar emotion to Peter. _Gods,_ _is that how I look at_ Miles _all the time? No wonder everybody keeps making “welcome to parenthood” jokes at me...and Mr. Obvious over there._

 

It  _ is _ obvious. It’s so obvious to everybody how much Noir cares about Peni—and vice versa. Peter knows the feeling; once you lose somebody close to you, you look for signs of them in everybody. Peni lost her dad, and found him again in Noir. Noir wasn’t looking, but he found somebody anyway. Somebody that he needed. Somebody who needed  _ him _ . 

 

It’s cute and all, but Peter wants  _ out,  _ and he’s  _ not _ gonna get sidetracked by these two. (And he’s definitely not thinking about the correlations between him and Noir, and their respective “kids,” because Miles is  _ not _ his kid. Nope. Not thinking about it.)

 

“ _ Second _ of all,” he slurs (and okay, yeah, he sounds like he’s way too far in the drink. Blood loss and painkillers make for a rather tipsy patient), “I’m completely fine. I’ve been shot before, in much less convenient places. You all made a huge racket about me gettin’ shot...s’not a huge...a huge...a big deal.”

 

Noir looks both amused and skeptical. “Uh huh,” he says dubiously. “Well, first off, I’ve  _ also _ been shot before, pal, and it ain’t a fun experience no matter  _ where  _ you get hit. Guns aren’t made for lettin’ people off easy; they’re made for killing.”

 

Noir’s...got a point there,  _ damn him _ . And he does carry a gun with him, so yeah, he probably knows what he’s talking about. 

 

“And second,” the monochrome Peter says, putting down his book and leveling Peter with a steely look. “Second, Gwen has made sure that I tell ya that if you even  _ think _ about twitching your ass an inch off that bed, she’ll web you to it and keep you there for a month. You need rest, and if we have to spoon feed you to make it happen, we will. Got it?”

 

Peter huffs. “You guys suck.  _ Alright-”  _ he adds hastily, recoiling under Noir’s look. “Alright, I’ll stay in bed for...however long this takes.”

 

Peni yawns and leans away from Noir’s leg for a second, sitting up straight. (He looks a little sad at the loss of contact, while also trying desperately not to look sad.) Tapping on what looks like a watch, she flicks a blue hologram up. It’s an outline of a man’s body—Peter’s, specifically. She taps a spot on his side, hits a couple buttons labeled in Japanese, then reads over several lines of information. 

 

“Okay,” she finally says. “The simulation that I just ran clocks you at a couple days for a bullet wound. You’ll be able to get up at around two days as long as you take it easy, and you should be good by four. Maybe less, if you get lots of sleep.”

 

Peter nods, slowly, eyelids drooping. Noir gets impatient and pulls Peni up into the armchair with him, tucking her into his side. Peni doesn’t seem to mind, snuggling into his thick gray sweater and snuffling. She was up all last night finalizing designs on SP//dr, and she’s probably exhausted. Noir looks quietly delighted, returning to his book and wrapping one arm around her. 

 

Peter starts to drift off, when something important crosses his mind and forces him awake again. 

 

“Hey...is Miles okay? Can’t help but notice he wasn’t hanging out around my sickbed with the rest of you.”

 

Noir looks at him, then looks at Peni, who sits up and rubs her eyes. 

 

“He  _ wasn’t _ here when we were trying to keep you alive...was he?” Peni directs the last part of the question at Noir, who shakes his head. 

 

“No. The little guy was...actually, I don’t know where he was. Was he outside?”

 

“Gwen went outside...I think to talk to Miles…”

 

“So he’s okay?” Peter interjected, eyes going slightly wide. “He’s not, like—also shot? Bleeding out?”

 

“Nope,” Noir grunts, pulling Peni back into his side. “Kid’s fine, just a little shaken up from what I could tell.”

 

Peter flops on his back and stares at the ceiling. Relief feels cool, washing away the hot surge of panic that had flared up in his chest at the possibility that Miles could be hurt.

 

_ Fucking fuck.  _ He’s in this whole “mentor” thing  _ waaaay _ too deep.

 

A wince twists Peter’s expression as burning pain works its way through his side, shooting spikes of pain into his stomach.  _ Ow. Right. Bullet. _ Sleeping the wound off sounds like the best course of action here—might makes for less time bedridden.

 

_ Man, _ Peter hates being shot.

\--

Miles scrubs at his eyes fruitlessly, trying to wipe away the blurriness there. It’s not from anything in his eyes; he’s simply been up so late that he’s starting to see double.

 

He’s sitting on the roof, looking at the hologram that Peni had pulled up to show him a couple hours ago. According to her, Peter would only take a couple days to heal.

 

_ Two days until he can get up, _ she had said, putting a kind hand on his arm.  _ Just two. And he’ll be back to normal after two more. _

 

Miles knew that she was trying to make it seem less serious than it actually was, trying to make it seem like it was anything less than a bullet wound to the back.

 

He closes his eyes and shivers, trying not to think of...of…

 

_...of the pool of red spreading under his Uncle Aaron’s back, forming a halo under his head, dripping on Miles’ hands, smearing on his cheeks when he cupped his hands over his mouth, tears cutting clear streaks in the slick red, nostrils filling with copper and iron as the light flickered and dimmed in his uncle’s eyes and—and—and— _

 

Miles gasps sharply and stares straight ahead, anchoring himself with the sight of the skyline, silhouetted against the blue-and-purple evening sky. Exhaling, he lifts a hand to rub at his chest, trying to slow his breathing.

 

His eyes are wet; drying tears cool on his cheeks.

 

He’s cold. The last vestiges of pink are slipping away from the horizon, replaced by the first few stars, and a brisk breeze lifts the hairs on the back of his neck. Miles lifts his hand again and dashes the tears away, furiously rubbing at his cheeks and sniffling.

 

He’s not gonna cry. He’s not gonna cry, because the last time he cried, his uncle died in his arms.

 

Miles stands up, eyes closed, and practices breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.  _ In and out. In and out. _

 

_ In. Out. _

 

_ In out. _

 

Miles needs to do something. He needs to...he needs to...go on patrol. Yeah. That’ll help clear his head, it usually does.

 

Opening his eyes, he pulls his mask over his face, breathes in one last time, then gets a running start and jumps off the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (he's not committing suicide dw he's just off looking for some trouble to get into as spider-man)
> 
> (also sorry)


	4. waking up (for real this time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up again. He and Gwen talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want them to be friends.....they both lost their counterparts, bls just let them be friends D:

Peter jolts awake and coughs. “Ow.”

 

Gwen, sitting in the armchair near the bed, jerks in surprise, then gives him a crooked grin. “Hey, you’re up. How do you feel?”

 

Peter stares at her. “What happened? You can tell me, I can take it.”

 

Gwen’s smile flickers. “Don’t you...remember?” she asks hesitantly.

 

“Nope. Did I get run over by a cement truck again?”

 

“What the eff do you mean _again_ —no, B, you didn’t get run over by a truck,” Gwen says exasperatedly, using the nickname Ham affectionately gifted Peter after Peni asked for Peter to help her with something and Noir, Ham, and B all had said “with what?”

 

Peter scrunches his nose up. “Oh. Then what-”

 

“You got _shot_ , dillhole,” Gwen exclaims, throwing her hands up. “Do you seriously not remember?”

 

“ _Ohh_ ,” Peter says, face lighting up. “Yeah, yeah, now I remember!”

 

“So how do you feel?” Gwen prompts again. Peter side-eyes her.

 

“Like I’ve been run over by a _cement truck_ , Gwendy. Except only in a really specific place...did I get shot in the _back?”_ he groans.

 

“Yeah, and according to Noir and Peni you were really out of it when you first woke up. Talking about how you’ve been shot before, trying to get out of bed, stuff like that. Umm...oh yeah, you asked about Miles.”

 

Peter looks up at that. “Oh, yeah, I...I remember that. I remember...I was thinking about...er, kids? Hey, does Noir have a kid?”

 

Gwen looks taken aback. “Uh, no...no, not that I know of. Why?”

 

Peter sighs and slumps back. “I think...I was thinking about Noir and kids. A kid...no, wait, no, I was thinking about Peni. False alarm.” Gwen looks half amused, half contemplative.

 

“Mm, no, he definitely _acts_ like she’s his. And you were drugged off your ass. I can see why you’d think that.”

 

“I was...also thinking about...you said Miles? I’m pretty sure I was thinking about him before I fell asleep. (“Of course you were,” Gwen snickers. Peter ignores this.) Hey, how long was I out?” Peter yawns and carefully stretches.

 

Gwen peers out the window at the buttery sunlight outside. “You, my friend, were out for a full twelve hours.”

 

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “Holy—that’s like...three times the usual amount.”

 

Gwen nods. “You can’t get up yet, but you can sit.” Peter stretches again, wincing as pain flickers through his back, and carefully props himself up on his elbows.

 

“Hey,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “where _is_ Miles, anyway?”

 

Gwen flinches. It’s a slight, almost imperceptible jolt, but it’s there. When she turns to look at Peter, she looks uncertain, almost fearful.

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, heart quickening slightly. Gwen opens her mouth, then closes it.

 

“I...don’t know. Where he is,” she hastily clarifies. “He’s, um, he went missing about two hours ago.”

 

Peter’s heart stops, then starts going about twice as fast. “Miles is _missing?”_

 

Gwen nods and chews her lip. “We noticed a few hours ago, I think.”

 

“Wh—a few _hours?_ Didn’t anybody see where he went?” Peter questioned, trying to ignore how his wound pulses with pain like it has a heartbeat of its own. Gwen slowly shakes her head.

 

“No, Pete. We, um, we thought...we thought it would be best if he had some time to himself.”

 

“Time to himse— _Gwen._ Miles absolutely _should not be alone_ right now,” Peter stresses, wheezing slightly as his injury throbs. “He’s—the collider—he watched his Peter Parker die in there—and that whole thing with his uncle—”

 

Gwen looks mystified for all of a second before understanding dawns on her face. “Ah, shitstickers,” she groans, dropping her head into her hands. “I _knew_ there was a reason he was taking this harder than everyone else...and he’s close to you.”

 

Peter struggles to sit up, breathing hard. “Gwen, we have to go and find him, _now._ I know that kid—he blamed himself for his uncle’s death, and I know he’ll do the same thing here—”

 

Gwen looks up sharply. _“We?_ There’s no _we_ in this, man. You got shot, lest you _somehow_ forget, and you’re not allowed out of bed for another day. _I’ll_ go look for Miles. You stay here.”

 

“Fuck that,” Peter gasps. Pain lances through his side, hot and thick, and spreads across his back in a fiery smear. Every beat of his heart makes the wound pulse and he knows he’s in danger of ripping his stitches. Not that it matters; he’s swung around with open wounds before and it usually turns out fine, and anyway, Miles takes priority. (He always takes priority. Every time Peter runs through his mental checklist, Miles is _always_ at the top. Peter doesn’t know when or how that happened, but it did.)

 

Gwen grabs his shoulders, forcing him flat on his back again. Peter stares at her incredulously.

 

“I am not sure,” she says slowly, standing straight again, “how much more clearly I can stress this to you. _You were shot less than two days ago._ Shot, Peter. With a gun. I get that you have a healing factor—we all do—but that’s _no_ excuse. It’s too soon.”

 

Peter’s voice gets low and dangerous. “Gwen, _let me up.”_

 

Gwen’s gaze doesn’t falter. “No.”

 

_“Gwen-”_

 

“Peter, I was being serious earlier. I _will_ web you to the bed.”

 

 _That_ pulls Peter up short. “You wouldn’t.”

 

Gwen’s gaze is steely. She is totally serious. “I will, if that’s what it takes to keep you here. You aren’t cleared to get up yet; so let _us_ look for Miles. We care about him, too, you know.”

 

Peter’s hesitation seems to give her permission to keep talking. “I know you wanna go looking for him, Pete. I do. But you’re not gonna help him by collapsing and dying of blood loss. There are four more of us; we can go and look for Miles. Okay?”

 

Peter stares right into her eyes for a total of ten very intense seconds. Forget the age gap between them, forget the fact that Gwen is a teenager and he is a (debatably) mature adult, she's every bit as scary as she had been in his universe.

 

 _Had been._ Man, he misses his universe’s Gwen Stacy.

 

Peter sighs and lets his head _thunk_ against the headboard. “The nanosecond I’m cleared to get up, I’m coming after you.”

 

Gwen sighs as well, but seems to accept this. “Fine. Hopefully, we’ll have Miles back by then. He’s probably just patrolling,” she says, turning to look out the window thoughtfully. “That’s what I always do when I need to think.”

 

Peter turns his head and looks out the window as well.

 

Together the two of them watch the outside world, both of them thinking about how Miles was out there somewhere. Peter’s brow furrows as worry flares up sharply in his chest.

 

_Where’d you go, bud?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PETER YOU ARE NOT SUBTLE AT ALL
> 
> where could miles have gonnnee D:


	5. the cutco knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles attempts to talk down a mugger. It does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i don't like this chapter at ALL, but it does give some insight into miles' mental process regarding this whole debacle and how his anxiety and ptsd tie into his guilt. 
> 
> so here, have some whump.

The man holding the knife is young; can’t be more than 20 years old. It’s obvious this is his first stickup, and he has no idea what to do when Spider-Man shows up.

 

The guy who he was attempting to mug bolts when Miles enters the scene. _Good. The less people are around, the less people will get hurt_.

 

It’s getting harder and harder to apply that rule to _only_ the Spider-Man gig. He’s starting to catch that mentality bleeding over into his life as Miles Morales, this constant nagging thought of _maybe people shouldn’t be around me as much. Maybe then, less people will get hurt. Less people will get killed._

 

Except he’s _not_ thinking about that right now. He’s not. He’s not Miles Morales right now; he’s Spider-Man, and he’s focusing on talking this guy down, this skinny little guy with knobby knees, holding a Cutco steak knife and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

 

“Hey, man.” Miles remembers how Peter talked to him after he had a nightmare in front of everybody, and tries to copy that low, soothing tone. “You okay?”

 

The kid’s teeth are chattering. Miles raises his hands in the universal gesture of _I am unarmed, I don’t want to hurt you,_ and he keeps talking. “You wanna maybe put the knife down? We can talk about this. Do you wanna talk? Does talking sound good?”

 

He tries to smile through his mask. “Wanna maybe, um, tell me why you’re doing this? Maybe I can help you.”

 

The guy raises the knife a little higher. “I-I, I need, I need to, to get enough money to p-pay my rent this month! I’ve already missed so much—I-I don’t wanna get evicted.”

 

The young man seems to give himself a little shake. “And I keep getting fired from jobs...I’m not lazy.”

 

Miles watches him warily. “Never said you were, man.”

 

“I’m not...I’m _not_ lazy…” the man sways slightly, now mumbling inaudibly to himself. Miles is confused. This had seemed to be going well; now he has no idea what’s going on. If he can just get the kid to drop the knife...maybe he can make a grab for it?

 

Slowly, he steps forward, shuffling slightly, fingers twitching. Get the knife away from the guy; then they can talk. _Just get the knife away from him._

 

_Just get the knife._

 

_Just get…_

 

The young man looks up, meets the wide white eyes of Miles’ mask with eyes that burn with sudden mania, face a twisted mask of anger and vitriolic hatred.

 

_Oh no._

 

“I’M NOT LAZY!” the guy screeches, lunging forward and lashing out with the knife. Miles’ spider-sense goes off in time for him to dodge a swipe to his throat, but he ends up with a long slash across his upper arm before he can web the guy up. The young man struggles wildly, screaming curses and threats, a vast difference from his previous timid exterior. He’s obviously mentally unstable.

 

Miles clutches his upper arm and hisses through his teeth. The gash isn’t deep, he’ll survive, but _man_ , does it smart!

 

And of course, now that he’s hurt, he really should head back now. His friends have lectured him over and over on what to do when he gets injured, which is, first and foremostly, to come straight back home (even though “home” changes depending on which dimension he’s in).

 

 _But..._ Peter was probably still sleeping, Noir and Peni were likely resting as well, Gwen was probably doing homework while she sat up with Peter, and Ham was...doing whatever it was Ham did when he had time off. (Cannibalism, maybe?)

 

 _Nah, I can stay out a_ little _longer,_ Miles reasons. _After all, they’re all probably too tired…_

 

In the back of his mind, something tells him that he always does this. He always thinks they’re too _something_ to come after him. They’re too tired, too busy, too injured, too _anything._

 

Anything at all to make him stop feeling guilty about staying out.

 

He’s gotten the you-come-straight-home-when-you-get-hurt lecture eleven times now. Even Peni’s had to take him aside and tell him quietly that the whole Lone Ranger act is gonna wind up getting him killed someday, and anyway he’s making Peter go gray early.

 

Eleven times he’s gotten the talk. Eleven times he’s ignored it. He’s been Spider-Man for two months, and he’s already got three different scars from where his healing factor just couldn’t keep up. A small nick on his cheekbone, a burn on the back of his left shoulder, and a puckered line on his side, just above his hip. Miles thinks his scars are cool, but his friends...his _family_ doesn’t.

 

“We’re Spider-People, kid,” Peter had said to him once. “This job is dangerous, and we’re bound to get banged up every once in a while. But three scars within the first _two months_ …”

 

Miles had protested this, saying that _Peter_ has scars. Peter had given him a saddened look.

 

“I’ve been Spider-Man for twenty-two _years,_ bud,” he had said softly, touching Miles’ shoulder. “You’re only thirteen, and you...you’re not supposed to turn out like me.”

 

Miles shoots a web and tugs himself into the sky with his good arm. As he swings between the buildings and down the streets, he thinks.

 

_Not turn out like Peter?_

 

Why not?

 

Miles knows that Peter had been talking about the depressed chubby hobo part of him, but Miles didn’t just see _that_ part of Peter. Under all the apathy and the I-don’t-care-about-anything attitude his mentor usually adopted, Peter was every bit as smart and compassionate as _his_ universe’s Peter Parker had been.

 

Miles blinks furiously, trying to get rid of the tears building up in his eyes. He had almost lost his mentor yesterday, and it was his fault.

 

Truthfully, it doesn’t matter whether his spider-family was too tired or too busy to come after him anyway. He hadn’t told anybody where he was going.

 

It doesn’t matter anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo miles you're gonna get in troooublllleee


	6. burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles' family starts to really worry about him.
> 
> Miles remains supremely unaware of this fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i changed noir a bit to have a heavier brooklyn accent. DOES IT DESTROY THE GRAVITY OF THE SCENE

“No luck?” Peni says as Gwen steps wearily into the living room, pulling off her mask. Gwen shakes her head. “No. He’s not taking his usual patrol route...I think he’s trying to throw us off his trail on purpose.”

 

Peni groans and flops backward onto the couch, waking Noir up with a start. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, go back to sleep.”

 

“Why’re ya awake?” Noir grunts tiredly. He and Peni were up all night with Peter.

 

“I slept a little last night. I’ll be fine,” Peni insists. “Besides, it’s my turn to go out and look for Miles!”

 

Noir hesitates, obviously torn between making Peni sleep and getting Miles home. Eventually, he relents, “A’right, go, but when ya come back you’re going straight to bed.”

 

“Fine,  _ Dad,” _ Peni snickers, bouncing back onto her feet and running to go prep SP//dr. After she leaves, Noir fixes his bleary gaze on Gwen.

 

“Nothin’?”

 

“No,” Gwen says tiredly. “I guess he’s probably not in Brooklyn—he knows that’s the first place we’d look for him. Manhattan, maybe?”

 

“No sense in wonderin’ ‘bout it now, kid,” Noir says, pushing his hat back down over his eyes. “Peni’s smart, she’ll find him. And if she doesn’t, then I will. I’m not a private eye for nothin’.”

 

Gwen pauses, then reluctantly nods, blowing out a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right, I’m just—I’m worried about him. Peter was right, he shouldn’t be alone right now.”

 

Noir’s eyes are hidden by his hat, but his lips twist into an uncomfortable frown. He doesn’t say anything. He does, however, wiggle his gloved fingers in a “come here” gesture.

 

Gwen sighs and flops on him. The whole team tends to end up in one big dogpile after big fights, and they’ve gotten used to falling asleep with one or more members of their weird family curled up under/on/beside them. It just was never a big deal.

 

Gwen exhales and buries her face in Noir’s shoulder. He rubs her back absently with one hand, the other behind his head.

 

She knows that Noir is worried about Miles too, one of the two unofficial babies of the group (the other being Peni. She knows that at fifteen she is also considered a child by the three adults’ standards, but screw it, she often acts like a fourth parent to the other two kids, or at least an older sister). 

 

Everyone loves Miles. It’s impossible not to; he’s one of the sweetest kids ever. The whole team knows about the massive soft spot B has for Miles, and they understand it, too. It’s hard not to take one look at this tiny person who’s been Spider-Man for all of a couple months, thrust into this whole multiversal mess at the tender age of thirteen, and not want to protect him.

 

Gwen just wishes he’d let them every once in a while.

\--

Miles stumbles and chokes down a bitten cry. His leg throbs.

 

Hissing, he staggers away from the wreckage of a toppled gasoline truck, metal chassis twisted and bent under its own weight.

 

_ Ow. Ow, ow, ow, ow. _

 

The truck had been t-boned by a drunk driver while going 50 miles per hour on a bridge. The truck had skidded and flipped over, and the sparks caused by the metal skidding over the pavement had made the whole thing go  _ ka-boom. _ Whee.

 

Miles, who had been trying to get all the cars out of the way of the pirouetting truck, had sustained a nasty burn on his leg in the explosion, which is just  _ fantastic. _ He hates getting burned; the sticky, gross feeling of the congealed blood combined with the hot, unfocused smear of pain just overall feels awful. 

 

Staring at the wreckage, he wills away thoughts of the collider exploding and stumbles around to check if everybody’s okay. People cheer and clap and give high fives and a few of them ask worried questions about his leg. 

 

“Oh, that?” he says to the nice lady. “That’s just a little thing...not a big deal. I’ve had worse, ya know?” She lets him wander off to go and check on someone else, but he feels her concerned gaze burn into the back of his head.

 

Okay, he really does need to go home now. If Peter wakes up before Miles gets back, he’s gonna be in major trouble.

 

Not that Miles would care, as long as Peter wakes up.

 

He’s about to turn around and go home. Really, he is. But then a roar echoes up the streets, coming from New York City behind him, and the ground shakes ever so slightly.

 

“Rhino,” he sighs, firing a web and swinging up to the supports of the bridge to begin the trip to New York. He’s still so tired that his vision’s blurry. “Of  _ course _ it’s Rhino.”

 

Miles waves to a little boy down below and tries not to falter too badly when the downswing pulls at the gash in his bad arm. Obviously he can’t go home now, not with Rhino on the loose, even if it has been...almost a full day...okay, he’s been gone for a long while. He’ll explain himself when he gets back. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, right? Right. 

 

_ I’m dead. If Rhino doesn’t kill me first, then Gwen will. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally almost all the comments on the last chapter were some variation of "miles no" and tbh i do not expect anything different from this chapter. MILES WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGG
> 
> we will have angry papa bear b next chapter i promise


	7. in denial, in pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter's done waiting, Noir is an enabler, and Gwen's trying to stop this idiot from getting himself killed. (again)
> 
> And Miles is not okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a longer chapter! as promised, you have your angry papa bear peter AND your miles whump.
> 
> enjoy, ya nerds
> 
> (o ya btw i changed noir's narration to refer to himself as "peter" instead of his nickname, so after the break, it's from noir's perspective, not b's)

“Peter, _get your ass on that bed!”_ Gwen shouts, rugby tackling Peter so he's forced to stumble back onto the mattress.

 

“I’m done waiting, Gwen!” he yells right back, pushing her off him. “It’s been almost a day and Miles _still_ isn’t back yet—none of you have had any luck finding him, you need my help!”

 

“You’re still injured—would—would you just— _sit down_ for a minute and think about this!”

 

“Kid’s probably right, B,” Noir chimes in from the doorway, looking torn between amusement over watching Gwen’ truly Herculean attempts at keeping B from getting up, and worry over Miles’ continued absence. “You might only end up doing more harm then good at this point. The little guy’s bound to turn up eventually; he can’t stay out there forever.”

 

There’s an uncomfortable pause as the members of the spider-gang look uncertainly at each other.

 

“He... _is_ gonna come back...right?” Peni says. “I mean, Noir’s right, he can’t stay out on patrol and...and never come back. What if he got hurt, he’d definitely come back then, right?”

 

Peter’s nostrils flare and he snarls through gritted teeth, forcing the pain back and knocking Gwen off his legs. “Of _course_ he wouldn’t, Peni, he’s an _idiot_ and he’s blaming himself for this—this—Gwen, _get the FUCK off me—”_

 

“No! You’re just gonna try and go after him and you’re not healed enough for that!” Gwen snaps heatedly. Peter objects, loudly, and the two of them start verbally sparring again.

 

Ham pokes his head through the gap between Noir’s legs and the doorframe, then wiggles the rest of his body into the room. Together, he, Peni, and Noir stand and watch in bemusement and trepidation as the argument grows louder and Peter looks angrier and angrier. Gwen, likewise, isn’t budging.

 

Ham finally breaks the thick silence between the trio watching the argument with, “What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object again?” Peni titters nervously and Noir sighs and shakes his head.

 

“Gwen,” he calls. “Hey, _Gwen!”_ Gwen looks up, slightly red-cheeked from yelling. “Better let up, now, doll; ‘else B’s gonna end up walloping somebody in the kisser. I’m not saying let ‘im fight or anything, if that’s what it comes down to,” he adds hastily, raising his hands at Gwen’s thunderous look. “Just let him help us look, a’ight? We’ll make him quit if he starts hackin’ up blood or something, but he’s not gonna stop lookin’ for the kid unless we knock ‘im out (“And even _that_ might not stop him,” Ham adds under his breath) and I’d prefer not to have to do that.”

 

Gwen turns, only to meet Peter’s burning gaze. Chubby hobo or no, he was still Spider-Man and he could still be freaking scary if the situation called for it. Turning away, she looks at Noir again. “Are you sure?” she asks, then addresses all of them. “Are you _all_ sure?”

 

Peni and Ham look at Peter, at his tight, coiled stance, at the way he seems to challenge either of them to refuse to let him go look for his little mentee, and they both nod.

 

“I don’t think we could stop him if we tried,” Peni says.

\--

“Why did you let him do this?” Gwen asks Peter Benjamin quietly. The team had spread out to go and look for Miles, so it was just the two of them in this section.

 

Peter turns to look at Gwen. She’s not looking at him, gaze trained straight ahead.

 

“By ‘him,’ d’you mean B?” he queries, carefully. Gwen nods. Peter sighs, turning to look ahead as well. He doesn’t answer for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

 

“I suppose...it’s because I can understand how he feels right now.” Gwen turns to look at him now, a silent gesture to elaborate.

 

“I-I...well, shit, kid, y’know how close I am with...with Peni, right?” Peter stutters slightly, and he knows he’s probably flaming red under his mask. As open as he may be with how much he cares about Peni, he still has trouble vocalizing it—products of his time, he supposes.

 

Gwen nods again. “Yeah. I mean—yeah. It’s kind of really obvious.” Peter ducks his chin into the collar of his turtleneck. Yeah, he’s definitely blushing.

 

“I’m—it’s—um...I, uh, I,” _shit, why can’t he just come out and say it? Everyone knows, it’s not a big deal…_

 

Gods, but just coming out and saying it sounded so...so _final,_ like he’d lose any last chance of being able to say that he didn’t care for her as much as he did (even though logically he knew he’d passed that point a long while ago).

 

“I...she’s like. My. Uh, my kid,” he finally stammers out. “I mean, I mean that’s how I-I see her.”

 

The blank white eyes of Gwen’s mask seem to soften and he knows she’s smiling under her mask. “Yeah, Noir. I know. And I know she sees you the same way.”

 

Peter groans, pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes. Gwen giggles. “You’re emotionally constipated, man. Anyway, what’s the point that you’re trying to make here?”

 

He says nothing in return, letting Gwen work it out for herself. He’s pretty sure she already knows, anyway. Slowly, her pink-rimmed eyes widen in increments as she thinks it over.

 

“Oh,” she says, realizing. _“Oh._ You think Peter…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“...feels the same way about Miles…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“...as you do about Peni?”

 

“Exactly,” Peter nods. Gwen lapses into silence for a bit, staring straight ahead. Then she looks at him, and though her expression is hidden, Peter can tell she’s sad.

 

“I know,” she admits. “I know that. I-I mean, I _knew_ that. He’s—he was so angry and worried about Miles...but he’s still injured, and I didn’t want to lose him aga—I didn’t want to lose him.”

 

Gwen had told them what had happened to her universe’s Peter, her best friend. It was a sad story.

 

Her Peter had not been bitten by the spider—had never learned the lesson that _with great power, there must also come great responsibility._ Bullied and tormented by his cruel peers, he had become more and more unstable until finally he had snapped and created the lizard mutagen, and turned it on himself.

 

Yeah. _That_ Lizard.

 

Gwen hadn’t known the Lizard was him. She was scared, she was angry, she didn’t know who he was...by the time she figured out the truth, it was too late. Peter was dead.

 

Noir knew that Gwen blamed herself for what happened, even though there was no way she could have known. She took the news of _this_ universe’s Peter’s death hard, too. Her overprotective behavior up until this point had only been a result of her desperate attempt to keep Peter B. from dying like the others.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Peter assured Gwen, reaching over mid-swing to pat her shoulder. “B’s tough, and Porker’ll keep him from trying to tussle with any hatchetmen before we get there.”

 

“Do you think...Miles will be okay?” Gwen asks. Peter's heart stills.

 

 _No. No, I’m not sure, because I_ know _that kid. He didn’t listen to us the last eleven times we tried to talk to him; he’s not gonna listen to us now._

 

“You kidding?” he says instead. “B _loves_ that kid. So long as that guy’s around—and the rest of us—Miles’ll be fine.”

\--

Miles is very much not fine.

 

Confronting the Rhino while sleep-deprived and injured had been a bad idea. A horrible idea. Possibly his worst one yet, and _that’s_ saying something. (He’s had some really bad ideas before.)

 

The towering man grabs him by the front of his suit and stares at him with small, angry eyes, before letting out a bellowing roar and slamming Miles into a wall.

 

They’re fighting in a construction site, amid the ruins of a wrecked building. The building was a solid, sturdy office building before Rhino destroyed it, and, unfortunately for Miles, it was also made of brick. The wall cracks as he hits it, and pain explodes across his back. He doesn’t have time to breathe before Rhino’s picking him up again, this time by the ankle, and slamming him into the ground.

 

Or trying to, anyway. Miles twists, reaching up and grabbing for Rhino’s hand. The second he’s got both hands clamped around the guy’s thick wrist, he releases a venom blast that makes the mutant bellow and drop him like a rag doll.

 

 _Ow._ Right on his head. He staggers to his feet and limps away as Rhino jitters and yells.

 

Coming here was a mistake. Actually, this whole day has been a mistake. He shouldn’t have left—should have asked somebody for help.

 

But— _no._ He can’t afford to drag any more people into his messes. This is his problem to solve. And, anyway, he had bested the Kingpin, hadn’t he?

 

 _He was angry, he was sloppy, he was underestimating you,_ a voice whispers. _You almost died. You weren’t previously injured before your fight with him. You weren’t so tired you were seeing double._

 

Man, Miles _hates_ how much the voice of reason sounds like Peter’s exasperated voice. But it’s right—he’s not operating at full strength right now, and Rhino’s already shaking the electricity away, already turning to snarl with renewed anger at Miles.

 

“C’mon, Al,” he gasps out. “I got, like, no sleep last night. Mind goin’ easy on me?”

 

Judging by the murderous gleam in Alexei’s small eyes, he’s not inclined to listen.

 

Letting out another cacophonous roar, he charges forward with his horn aimed squarely at the center of Miles’ chest. Rhino’s a big dude, but he’s surprisingly fast when the situation calls for it. Miles just barely manages to dive out of the way, though not without sustaining _another_ gash to his side.

 

 _Today,_ he thinks, _has been absolutely shitty and I demand a full refund._

 

Yeah, it’s official. Assuming he survives this fight, Peter’s gonna rip him a new one for charging in alone and not pulling back when he’s injured.

 

Miles hisses and staggers away, holding his side and trying to ignore both the stinging pain from the gash and the deeper ache of guilt that pushes at the inside of his ribcage every time he even thinks Peter’s name.

 

Rhino’s revving up to charge again. Miles’ back hits a wall.

 

Instantly, his spider sense starts screaming at him. Rhino can’t switch directions mid-charge, so as long as you’re fast, it’s pretty easy to dodge him...unless you get cornered. Then you’re fucked.

 

In the half-second before Rhino starts running, Miles scans his options. He can’t go up, there’s not enough time for him to get far enough out of the way. He can’t dodge to either side, there’s debris in the way.

 

Rhino’s way too close. The most that he can do at this point is twist as far as he can to the side and hope for the best.

 

_I’m going to die. I’m going to die._

 

Oh, gods. He’s going to die. Here, in this construction site, surrounded by bricks and rebar and smashed building parts—this right here is where Rhino’s gonna kill him.

 

Rhino roars and charges.

 

Miles closes his eyes tightly and brings his hands up in front of his head, like that’s gonna do anything.

 

The villain’s feet pound against the ground, in time with the pounding of Miles’ heart in his ears. Vaguely, he registers wishing that he had time to apologize to Peter and say good-bye to his parents.

 

There’s a massive, crushing roar; the shriek of metal rending. The brick behind him caves inward with the force of the blow. Miles thinks he might be screaming—or maybe crying?

 

Pain explodes red across his vision. Everything goes white, then

 

black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would say im sorry but im really really not


	8. cracks and cracks (please don't be dead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds Miles.
> 
> Rhino is having a bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more angry b for ur angry b needs
> 
> this dad is ANGERY

Alexei can’t believe his luck. Spider-Man’s here, and none of his dimensionally displaced horde of miscreants are with him.

 

And, to make it even easier, the little Spider-Man had looked near dead on his feet. Like he hadn’t slept. The battle was hardly a battle—but for the single venom strike, Spider-Man had been completely powerless, unable to fight back.

 

Alexei would almost sympathize with him, if he didn’t hate the guy so much.

 

Grey concrete dust hangs thick and heavy in the air. It’s nearing evening—time he was going, but he wants to gloat just a bit more. Chunks of rubble surround them both, cracks spiderwebbing (ha) out from the hero’s prone form.

 

Standing over his little body, victory thrumming in his blood and a wicked smirk on the edge of his teeth, Alexei is suddenly aware that somebody's watching him. Turning, he looks behind him and sees  _Spider-Man_ staring at him, white eyes wide.

 

No, actually, upon closer inspection, that's one of the small one’s friends, the big red one.

 

Alexei grins, cracking his knuckles. He’s not a man to discriminate! He hates _all_ Spider-People. He’s already taken out the little one, why shouldn’t he be able to kill this one as well? All in a day’s work, yes?

 

This Spider-Man is clearly older than the one Alexei just killed. Got a bit of a gut on him, but the rest of him is surprisingly muscular, in a lean, wiry kind of way. He’s sitting on his haunches on the top of a flickering streetlight like a cat, fingertips perched in front of him.

 

This one is literally radiating anger (and perhaps worry as well). If he were to take his mask off, Alexei wouldn’t be surprised if he were literally spitting fire. His curled posture and tensed legs give the impression that he’s about to go for Rhino’s throat, and his head is angled in the little one’s direction, like he’s trying to gauge whether he’s alive or dead.

 

The other Spider-Man’s eyes widen and he nearly falls off the pole. He’s clearly noticed how still the little spider is. Then his wide white eyes narrow into dangerous slits, and when he speaks, his voice is rough and jagged with vitriol and something else, something that sounds like grief.

 

“Did you kill him?” he hisses, voice cracking.

 

Alexei shrugs his massive shoulders, grinning. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

 

The other Spider-Man’s body tenses. “ _Did you fucking kill him?”_ he yells.

 

“Come down here and see for yourself, spider,” Alexei taunts, stepping to the side so the other Spider-Man has a full view of the crumpled little body at his feet.

 

The red Spider-Man doesn’t like that, apparently. With a guttural, broken cry, he springs forward, aiming for Alexei’s head.

 

Alexei raises his arms, but the man switches direction and delivers a series of harsh jabs to the nerve clusters under his arms. The villain releases a wounded bellow and snaps his arms down, but the spider’s already ducking behind him to take out the backs of his knees.

 

Somehow, this chubby idiot seems to know where all of the chinks in Rhino’s armor are, and he utilizes this knowledge with a cold-blooded efficiency commonly associated with most serial killers. While Alexei is gasping on all fours, he wipes his hands disdainfully and stalks away.

 

Alexei coughs and glares through watering eyes. The red Spider-Man drops to his knees beside the little one and reaches out hesitantly with a gloved hand to brush over his masked forehead, running the backs of two fingers along his cheek with a surprising tenderness that makes Alexei wonder whether the black-and-red Spider-Man is the bigger Spider’s child. “Oh, _kiddo,”_ he hears, in a voice _very_ different from the angry one he heard just a minute ago.

 

Reaching out, the man fumbles two fingers to press against the little one’s neck, checking for a heartbeat, and Alexei can see the moment that his shoulders relax.

 

 _Damn it,_ how _is he still alive?!_

 

“You did a number on him,” the chubby Spider says like he read Alexei’s mind, getting to his feet and beginning to walk back toward him. “But he’s stronger than you think he is, even if he is an _idiot.”_

 

“Of course, there’s still a tiny problem,” he continues nonchalantly, stepping daintily over a chunk of cement, “I mean—well, you’re an understanding guy, right?”

 

“You understand,” he says (and oh, Alexei can hear the dark smile in his tone), “that I can’t just let you _get away with that shit.”_

 

Alexei sees him crack his knuckles and gulps.

\--

Gwen’s head snaps up. So does Noir’s.

 

One shared look confirms what they’re both thinking: one of the spiders is in the area.

 

“Please let it be Peter, _please_ let it be Peter,” Gwen mutters as a red blur swings out in front of them.

 

It _is_ Peter, just the wrong one. “What are you all doin’ here?” Ham huffs.

 

“We came up this way after that big crash a few minutes ago. Where’s B?” Gwen asks hurriedly.

 

Ham’s ears drooped. “No idea. He went tense all of a sudden, then pulled a 180 and zipped away before I could ask him what was goin’ on.”

 

Gwen goes cold. If Peter’s not with Ham, then that means nobody’s with him. There’s no telling what he might do, up to and including getting shot again. (She wouldn’t put it past him. Nobody would.)

 

There’s a loud whir and a clanking noise, then SP//dr clambers up the side of a building.

 

 _“Where’s B? Did you guys find Miles yet?”_ Peni says, the mech’s speaking apparatus giving it a robotic inflection.

 

“No. Both of them are missing,” Noir says. The mech’s glowing eyelights change from determined to nervous.

 

 _“Missing? How’d he manage that?”_ Peni sounds exasperated as well as fearful. _“We literally told him that one of us has to stay with him at all times!”_

 

“Great, so now we’re looking for Miles _and_ B. _Fantastic,”_ Gwen mutters.

 

Noir starts to say something, but he’s interrupted by a massive crash, followed by a shout of pain.

 

“I give! I give, Spider, I give! Now let me go!”

 

 _“You give?_ Are you kidding? I haven’t even started yet!”

 

The Spiders exchange a panicked look and, as one, turn and shoot off in the direction of the voices.

 

One voice, the pleading one, has a heavy Russian accent and in other circumstances would have a deep, intimidating rasp. Now, however, it just sounds pathetic.

 

The other voice is...it sounds like…

 

“Is that _B?”_ Ham says incredulously.

 

 _“I sure hope it’s not, we_ told _him to stay out of trouble!”_ SP//dr shoots back, launching off the side of a building.

 

“He sounds steamed,” Noir notes. “Think he might actually be beating Rhino?”

 

 _“By himself? Not likely—OHMYGOODNESS!”_ Peni screeches, cutting herself off midsentence as a grey blur explodes into view, shooting across their field of vision and crashing into an office building.

 

There’s a bit of a stunned silence.

 

“Well, shit,” Ham finally says.

 

 _“That-that’s Rhino, isn’t it?”_ Peni squeaks.

 

Gwen gulps. Yeah, that’s Rhino, lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of an abandoned office building. And if the voice they’d heard earlier really was Peter…

 

“Did...was that...did _Peter_ do that?” she wonders aloud.

 

Rhino shakes off his daze and looks up slowly, then lets out an extremely undignified yelp and attempts to clamber to his feet.

 

“Attempts” being the keyword here. A smaller red blur slams into him with an angry yell, smashing his head through the wall and causing grey dust to billow outwards, momentarily obscuring them.

 

Staring into the fog, Gwen’s heart lurches. Rhino’s head is half-in, half-out of the wall, cracks spreading outwards from the entry point. He’s covered in discolored bruises and his massive arm is clearly broken, armor shattered around the elbow joint. He is, put simply, a mess.

 

And standing on his chest, shoulders heaving and fists clenched, is Peter.

 

They watch in stunned silence as he bends to speak to the barely-conscious Rhino, every venomous, nearly-whispered word audible only because of their super-senses (and high-tech audio receptors, in Peni’s case).

 

“You _give?”_ he snarls. _“You give up?_ After what you just did, what you _did to him?!_ YOU ALMOST _KILLED MY KID, YOU SON OF A-”_

 

Gwen unfreezes and springs down to Peter, followed closely by the rest of the team. Touching down on Rhino’s chest behind Peter, she wraps her arms around his chest and pulls him back.

 

“Peter,” she splutters, forgetting to use his nickname. “Peter, what-”

 

Peter flinches violently, knocking her off him, and whirls around, the eyes of his mask going wide.

 

There’s a rather pregnant pause before Peni carefully says, _“It’s just us, Peter.”_

 

Peter nods, still looking slightly wild, chest heaving and eyes white and wide, like he’s still not seeing any of them.

 

“B,” Noir ventures, “did you see the kid? Is he-”

 

After that, a few things happen very fast.

 

Peter jolts like he’s been electrocuted and cries _“MILES!”,_ leaping off of Rhino and clambering nimbly up and over the building that he punched the guy through earlier. Rhino jerks and grunts, growling at the other spiders. Noir and Gwen go after B, with Gwen’s heart pounding crazily against her ribcage.

 

And Ham walks over and calmly knocks out the sluggishly-struggling Rhino again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o shit is miles okay
> 
> (catch me emphasizing how small miles is in every other sentence haha hes. thirteen)


	9. rulebreaker (gods damn it, b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen has a panic attack, and B is an idiot.
> 
> Somebody's gotta keep the ball rolling, here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is from noir's perspective, and i had him refer to himself as "peter" here, because you don't stop referring to yourself by your name just because some other people share your name. 
> 
> dw, i'll go back and change the other noir chapter to match this one after i post it

“Oh, my  _ gods.” _

 

Gwen turns away abruptly as B drops to his knees beside the thin crumpled body, tugging the kid’s mask off. Peter doesn’t turn away.

 

He watches, numbly, as the other man pulls Miles’ small form into his arms, cradling him, rocking him like a child. (He  _ is _ a child.)

 

“Oh fuck, what...what did that monster do…” Gwen gasps into her hands. “He’s not dead. Please.”

 

Peter knows, logically, that he should go and help B, but fuck it, Gwen’s lost enough.

 

He grabs her shoulders and makes a split second decision. Pushing up his mask, he gives her a little shake and waits until she looks up at him.

 

“Look me in the eye,” he says sternly.  _ “In the eye, _ Stacy.” She does.

 

“Miles is  _ not _ dead,” Peter says. “I can hear his heart beating. He’s not dead, and he’s not  _ gonna _ go belly up at any point today, you understand me?”

 

He waits until she nods tearfully before letting go of her. She composes herself as he strides over to B.

 

“Miles,” B is saying. “Miles.  _ Miles.” _ His hands, that had only moments before mercilessly beaten the shit out of the Rhino, now flutter nervously, tenderly over the gashes and bruises adorning the younger Spider-Man. Miles stirs and makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a sob and a gasp, a noise that damn near punches Peter in the chest and makes B pull his own mask up, tugging it off his head. Underneath, his expression looks absolutely  _ wrecked. _

 

“Hey, Miles, hey…” he says softly, flinging the mask aside and cradling Miles’ head, stroking his cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Shhh-shhh, bud, it’s okay. Shhh. I’m here. I got you, kiddo, I got you. I’m here.” 

 

Miles, for better or for worse, is waking up, and while Peter would have preferred him to remain unconscious until they can patch him up, he’s still so damn happy to see Miles’ foggy brown eyes staring back at him.

 

“Hiya, punk,” he says frankly, stepping over a chunk of rebar and dropping into a crouch next to the other two Spiders. 

 

“Hey, man,” Miles croaks, and  _ oh, _ his voice sounds simply awful, and his eyes are red-rimmed and slightly damp, like he’s been crying.

 

Or like he’s about to  _ start _ crying, evidently.  _ Fuck. _ Crying wouldn’t be good for Miles’ ribs or B’s continued emotional stability. Peter kneels next to them, very aware of the fact that his mask is off as well. 

 

What a trio they must make, Peter thinks vaguely, three Spider-Men hunched in a wrecked construction zone, masks off and eyes wide, blinking in the dusty air. 

 

“Lemme see him, B,” Peter says, extending his hands. B flinches, like he had forgotten Peter was there. When he looks up, their eyes meet.

 

Peter feels like he’s just been punched in the throat.

 

It’s so  _ strange, _ looking up and seeing his mirror image, face whole and unscarred and in full color, looking at him. The other Peter’s face is twisted in fear and shock and worry—and a ferocity that’s almost feral. Peter can absolutely believe that B would eviscerate Rhino if he attempted to come after Miles again.

 

More than that, Peter  _ recognizes _ that emotion. He knows that fierce desire to protect intimately; he feels it every day.

 

Every time he so much as glances in Peni’s direction.

 

He recalls the discussion that he’d had with Gwen, where he’d compared B and Miles’ relationship to his own relationship with Peni. Though the mere thought of any kind of emotional expression makes him cringe a bit (comes with the job—bad idea to get attached to anybody), he’s getting better at letting Peni know he loves her. 

 

And as that’s happening, he’s started to notice the same thing happening with B, more and more. How he’ll rest a hand casually on Miles’ back or shoulder at random moments, or squeeze his cheeks playfully and make a comment on his freckles, or even pick him up and spin him around joyfully after a long battle. 

 

And Peter remembers when Miles had had that nightmare. The kid had been sleeping on the couch, everyone else falling asleep around him, when he began to twitch and whimper. And cry. 

 

Peter had barely registered that something was wrong when B swooped in and shaken Miles awake, then wrapped the crying boy’s shaking hands up in his own bigger ones and talked him down from an impending panic attack. 

 

Peter remembers staring at B’s hands, all but encompassing Miles’ smaller ones, at how he was stroking the back of the kid’s hands with his thumbs seemingly unconsciously, and thinking  _ if Peni ever has a nightmare, I’ll need to take notes.  _

 

Peter shakes himself roughly.  _ Why am I remembering that now? Snap out of it, Parker, you’ve got a kid to save, here.  _

 

Reaching out, he lays his hands carefully on Miles’ chest, checking for broken ribs. B watches him warily, arms still wrapped around the kid’s small body. Peter gets the acute feeling that a mother bear is watching him, waiting to see if he’ll harm her cub. 

 

Thankfully, he doesn’t feel any breaks in the kid’s ribcage. Peter straightens. “Ribs are fine,” he reports. “It’s safe to pick ‘im up.”

 

B sighs and sags in relief. “Okay, great. Thanks, Noir.” Except it’s not that simple; when he stands up, his face abruptly drains of color and he stumbles, nearly dropping Miles (but he doesn’t because of course he wouldn’t).

 

“Whoa, kid!” Peter says, startled. “Easy there!”

 

“Sorry,” B gasps, sweat dotting his forehead. “Give me…a…second…”

 

“Did you open your wound again?” Gwen says sternly, appearing out of nowhere, having seemingly composed herself.

 

_ “No,” _ B snaps, carefully lowering himself down again with a groan, hunching over Miles (and the kid’s apparently unconscious again, how long has that been a thing?) and breathing hard.

 

“You opened your wound again,” Gwen sighs, looking altogether done with B’s shit.

 

“I  _ did not, _ Gwen, I— _ ah ah ah-” _ A pained gasp cuts off the rest of B’s defiant sentence. Gwen rolls her eyes and, muttering something under her breath about  _ reckless idiots, it’s a wonder they’re not related, _ she reaches forward and (gently) yoinks Miles away from B.

 

“Oh, come on, give him back,” B groans, arms moving to wrap around his rounded midsection.

 

“Pete, the deal was that you wouldn’t overexert yourself  _ or _ try to fight anyone yet and  _ you _ , mister, fudged both of those rules right away. So now you don’t have a say in what you can or cannot do. Okay?”

 

Gwen’s scary as hell no matter what dimension she’s in. B holds her stare for an impressively long time, but eventually his own gaze drops.

 

“Fine, alright, but I’m swinging myself home,” he finally growls.

 

 _“Can you stand up?”_ SP//dr says, stepping out from _absolutely nowhere_ and scaring the shit out of Peter. Holy shit, that hunk of metal can be damn quiet if the need arises. Ham’s sitting on its shoulder, holding a big, cartoony mallet and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

 

B glares at them, then gingerly stands and walks over to where he threw his mask aside earlier. Snagging it from the ground, he dusts it off, slips it back onto his head, and folds his arms like he’s daring them to not let him get himself home. 

 

They all look at one another, then Ham pipes up. “Alright. He can stand, so he can swing, as long as he’s careful.  _ Reeeeaaally  _ careful.”

 

“Alright, whatever, now can we  _ please _ get Miles home? He needs medical attention,” B pleads. Gwen sighs wearily and nods, still holding Miles. Ordinarily, she’d probably protest harder, but she’s likely too tired now. Peter’s heart twinges in sympathy and he extends his arms to her.

 

“Give ‘im to me, darlin’,” he offers. “I can carry him a little easier ‘n you, anyway.” Gwen hesitates briefly, but passes him over. Peter’s sure to be extra gentle with the kid, arranging his arms across his chest so they don’t dangle. If he’s really, really careful, he can hold Miles in one arm and leave the other to swing with. Ordinarily that’d be a good thing, but today all it signifies is how tiny Miles is, and it makes his throat close up.

 

“A’right,” he sighs. Gods, he’s so tired, and worry pings against the inside of his ribcage. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i didn't kill miles where's my gold star


	10. muffled voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles drifts in and out of consciousness.
> 
> He hears a few passing conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was sick so this was a little late sorry :'D
> 
> but! good news! i just started writing what i HOPE will be the final chapter! yaaaaay
> 
> (also we're back to "peter" meaning burrito peter, not noir)

_“Oh! You’re back! Did you find him?”_

 

_“Yeah, May, we found him, but he’s in bad shape, and we’re pretty sure B opened his wound again.”_

 

_“I’m right here, you know.”_

 

_“(Of course he did…) Alright, yes, bring them both in here, quickly, quickly. Is anyone else hurt?”_

 

_“No, we’re all good.”_

 

_“Are you sure?”_

 

_“Yes, May, we’re fine. Some of us are just a little tired, is all.”_

 

Time passes. Pain flickers in his side, his arm, his leg. Cool fingers press against the gashes on his arm and side, the burn on his leg. They feel nice.

 

Less nice, perhaps, when the hands begin to stitch up his gashes and disinfect and wrap the burn, and it’s downright excruciating when his broken bones are set, but he stays still throughout. Not that he has much of a choice. And it’s over quickly, anyways.

 

Vaguely, he registers concern, though he can’t remember why. Something to do with Peter and a wound…?

 

_“There, they’ll both be perfectly fine now. You can take Miles to my room.”_

 

_“Oh, May, we don’t wanna take your room…”_

 

_“Now that’s nonsense, I’m perfectly fine with it…”_

 

“No, _May. The kid can go in Other Peter’s room. I’ll be fine.”_

 

 _“...well I hope you’ll be fine with bunking together, because there’s no way_ you’re _staying on your feet, mister!”_

 

Different hands now. Bigger. Warmer. Calluses on the fingers. The hands wind underneath him, lift him up and hold him against something firm and warm.

 

A memory. _Peter’s hands gripping his, big, warm, and callused, thumbs rubbing circles into the backs of his hands, soft voice saying_ it’s okay, Miles, it was just a nightmare. You understand? You’re not there anymore; you’re here. I’m here, too, see?

 

I’m here.

 

_“Aw, he looks so peaceful.”_

 

_“I envy him. He’s sleeping.”_

 

“I _don’t, ‘cos you know we’re going to have to yell at him later.”_

 

_“Hey, uh...call me a softie, but I really don’t wanna yell at a kid who’s recoverin’ from a direct hit from the Rhino.”_

 

_“Noir?”_

 

_“Yeah?”_

 

_“You’re a softie.”_

 

_“Yeah.”_

 

_“But you’re also right, and I’m tired, we all are. And Miles...I don’t know what he was thinking, pulling some reckless shit like this, but whatever he was thinking, it wasn’t good._

 

 _Let’s all just…give him some time, okay? Time to heal. And then, once he’s better,_ then _we’ll chew him out. Okay?”_

 

_“...okay.”_

 

_“Yeah, alright.”_

 

_“Can we all sleep together again? Like in a big cuddle pile?”_

 

_“Sure, Peni. Just try not to jostle the kid too much, he needs to rest.”_

 

And now he’s lying on something soft, and someone’s arms wrap around him and pull him close to something warm and solid. Someone else’s arms wrap around him from behind. Something leans against his legs.

 

It’s his family, he thinks. Maybe.

 

Time passes. Someone hums in his ear and rubs circles into his arm. A phone rings. A door clicks.

 

_“That was the police. Rhino’s been found, and they’re taking him into custody.”_

 

_“He still alive?”_

 

_“Er, yes?”_

 

_“Pity.”_

 

_“...am I to assume this has something to do with why Peter came home so angry?”_

 

 _“Again, I’m right here. And I wasn’t_ angry, _just...curt.”_

 

_“You didn’t say a word to me while I was dressing your injury, which, by the by, is going to result in you staying down for a few more days.”_

 

_“Aw…”_

 

_“I tried to warn you, Pete.”_

 

_“Better call MJ and let her know you’ll be sticking around a bit later than we thought.”_

 

_“Yeah? And who says I’ll be staying? Why can’t I recover in my own universe?”_

 

 _“The fact that Miles is in_ this _universe and you don’t wanna leave him says so.”_

 

_“I-I’m sure the kid’ll be fine if I’m...not here…”_

 

 _“Don’t even with that. Just call MJ and tell her you accidentally went all_ soft _and_ paternal _overnight, I’m sure she’ll understand.”_

 

People laughing now. The sound of their laughter makes him happy, but the solid thing that his face is mushed into shifts like it’s gonna move away, and he doesn’t want that; it’s warm and it makes him feel safe. Miles lets out a soft groan that turns into a wheeze of pain when his ribs twinge sharply. Whimpering quietly, he tries to pick individual voices out of the low murmur around him as a distraction from the pain.

 

_“Oh shit, is he waking up?”_

 

That’s a girl’s voice...Gwen’s, he thinks.

 

 _“Ah come on, we_ just _got him to stop moving around.”_

 

Who was it that sounded uncannily like John Mulaney again...oh yeah, Ham.

 

_“Is he okay? He sounds like he’s in pain…”_

 

Another girl’s voice, softer and higher than Gwen’s. Peni.

 

_“Let’s hope not, there’s not much more that we can do for the little guy at this point.”_

 

A man’s voice, deep and rough, with a heavy Brooklyn accent. It’s gotta be Noir, nobody else that he knows sounds so much like a classic detective from a TV show.

 

_“Miles, hey…”_

 

This voice is closer, and, oddly enough, he can _feel_ it. The vibrations rumble right next to his ear.

 

_“It’s okay, bud, it’s just us. Just us.”_

 

It’s his family. He _knows_ that. They’re all here, waiting for him to get up.

 

He needs to get up. Spider-Man _always_ gets up, he doesn’t let anything knock him down, he’s always gotta come back, ready for round two. Miles can’t afford to disappoint anyone else, he’s already let down so many people.

 

And he tries, he really, _really_ does. He tries so hard it hurts, but all he can do is shift a couple inches and cry out softly when his leg burns.

 

Apparently, whoever’s holding him does not like this; the chest he’s pressed against rumbles in a growl, and the arms wrapped around him pull him in tighter.

 

_“Why is he mov…”_

 

_“...hold him still…”_

 

_“...in pain? He was cryi…”_

 

_“...okay, Miles, it’s okay…”_

 

Everything hurts. Everything _hurts._ His bones ache and his head is pounding and he doesn’t wanna move, but he has to get up, he _always_ has to get up. _Always._ His eyes can’t seem to open, and even though he’s trying his hardest to force his pain back, a low, keening wail leaves him, making the arms around him tense and the chest he’s pressed against heave and quiver, like whoever’s holding him is in pain.

 

(He thinks it might be Peter. He really, really hopes it’s Peter.)

 

The person holding him sits up, bringing him up with them, and pulls him into their lap, cradling and rocking him like a baby. Their face presses into the top of his head. Other hands find their way onto his back, his head, into his own hands, squeezing the back of his neck, stroking his hair.

 

And slowly, rocking back and forth, someone rubbing his back in slow circles and someone else whispering words of strength and love in his ear, he stops hurting.

 

Miles falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miles sit ur injured ass back down young man D8<
> 
> next chap's gonna be longer btw


	11. all the time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles wakes up. Gwen is awake.
> 
> They talk. Peter sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :p

Miles blinks awake slowly. 

 

He’s awake for real this time, he thinks. Maybe. Things seem clearer; the pain isn’t as bad, having diminished from a pounding throb to a dull ache. His leg still feels gross, though, and he sticks out his tongue as he sits up, a weight falling off his chest from where it was resting. 

 

“Hello universe, where is my freaking refund,” he grumbles. 

 

“The universe has shitty customer service, my man,” Gwen comments, grinning when Miles turns to look at her, sitting off to the side a bit with a pillow in her arms.

 

“Can I have a pillow too?” he asks hesitantly.

 

“Bro, you’ve already got a pillow. Use it,” she says, flopping back onto the bed.

 

Looking around, Miles can see that he’s surrounded by his team, all of them curled up and asleep on Other Peter’s big bed. The sight warms his heart, making him smile. He does not, however, see a pillow anywhere near him. Understandable, since Ham seems to have stolen all of them, dude, what the  _ heck. _

 

“I  _ don’t _ have a pillow,” he insists, gesturing behind him. “Look behind me, Gwennard.”

 

“I  _ am  _ looking, Miles, and he  _ is _ right behind you.”

 

_ He? _

 

Turning, Miles chokes at the sight of Peter, whole and undamaged and  _ alive, _ leaning against the headboard of the bed and sound asleep.

 

“How...what…” Miles sputters, then he notices that Peter’s arms are curled loosely over his stomach, and his hands are curled slightly.

 

“Is he...having a nightmare? Should I wake him up?” Miles inquires, nervously eyeing Peter’s clenching hands and slowly-darkening expression.

 

“No, go lean on him. He wants you to come back,” Gwen says, stretching across the bed with her foot and giving Miles a little shove.

 

“Come back? But I was just…” his voice fades out as he puts the pieces together.

 

“Gwen...was I  _ using Peter as a pillow?” _ he whisper-shrieks, whipping around to look at her. He gapes in dismay when he sees her smug expression.

 

“It was so cute. Your head was on his stomach, and he was curled up around you like a big ol’ papa wolf,” she snickers.

 

_ “Noooo,”  _ Miles groans into his hands. “That’s so embarrassing, dude! I fell asleep on Spider-Man and that’s not... _ oh fuck, _ his bullet wound!”

 

“Embarrassing, no. Adorable? Freakin’ hell yeah. And don’t worry, you didn’t make his injury act up. He’s fine.

 

“And,” she continues, messing with her eyebrow piercings, “to be fair, he  _ is _ very soft.”

 

“ _ Argh, _ dangit, screw you, man,” Miles mutters. Gwen laughs. Peter groans.

 

Both of them go very still, whipping around to stare at Peter. He’s moving now, head twitching and fingers jerking like he’s trying to grab something. A low, angry,  _ feral _ growl twists its way out of his throat, making him bare his teeth.

 

“Miles, go to him,” Gwen says softly, posture suddenly rigid.

 

“What?” Miles murmurs, not really understanding. Did  _ he _ ever growl like that? Is that normal for spider-people?

 

_ “Miles,” _ she hisses. “Get over there, now!”

 

“Why? What good’s that gonna do?” he squeaks, panicking.

 

“Just do it!” she snaps, cutting worried glances in Peter’s direction.

 

“Okay! Okay, okay. Lemme just…okay,” Miles relents, reaching out towards Peter. The guy’s shifting around agitatedly, hands clenching and unclenching, and more strangled growls and snarls forcing their way out of him. Miles, unsure of what to do, flails a little before reaching out tentatively and laying a hand on his wrist.

 

And apparently Peter is at least partially conscious at this point, because the second Miles makes contact he goes still, then, lightning fast, grabs his wrist and drags Miles back into his embrace. Miles lets out a surprised yelp as Peter’s arms wind fold him into a tight, firm grip and his head automatically lands on Peter’s chest.

 

Having achieved his goal, the man lets out a deep sigh with an unmistakable note of contentment (maybe even satisfaction) in it, shifts a little to get comfortable again, and falls back into a deeper sleep.

 

“Uh,” Miles says eloquently. “Uh, okay.”

 

Gwen snorts, relieved. “You up for a being a cuddle partner a bit longer?”

 

“Yeah, that’s—yeah. That is. Totally fine.” In reality, it’s great; Miles kind of needs to be held right now. Just a little bit.

 

He’s still confused about Peter’s behavior, though. Why did he start acting all weird when Miles stopped laying on him? And then fall back asleep when Miles came back? Did it have something to do with the angry yelling he fuzzily remembered from when he was half-conscious on the ground?

 

“Hey, Gwen?” Miles asks slowly. “What, uh, what happened while I was out? Can you tell me?”

 

Gwen looks at him, then down, then back. Her gaze drifts off to somewhere behind him.

 

“Okay. That’s a...a fair question,” she finally says. “A, uh, a lot happened.”

 

“So, you disappeared, without telling anybody, which scared the absolute shit out of us, obviously, and so we went out one at a time to go search for you. We were out looking for your ass— _ for several hours, might I add— _ and you were nowhere to be found. I have no idea how you managed to throw the professional detective off your tail, let alone his genius daughter with the mech, which is equipped with about a thousand different sensors, but you have to give me all your knowledge, ‘cuz I could use some of that stealth to get past the police in my dimension.”

 

Miles lowers his gaze to stare at the mattress right in front of Gwen, rather than directly at her. He’s ashamed to think that his team was out looking for him; it’s not like he’s worth their time or energy.

 

“So we all decided to go out and look for you and leave B here to recover—but he wasn’t having that,” Gwen continues. “When he first woke up, he was high as a kite and super tired, but he still asked about you. And then when he woke up  _ again, _ he freaked out when I told him that you were missing. 

 

And then later, I had to practically pin him to the bed to keep him from going after you, only it didn’t work, because  _ this _ nutjob,” she sticks her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at a sleeping Noir, “sided with him.”

 

“Peter was out there looking for me with a bullet wound in his side?!” Miles interjects frantically finally looking up.

 

“Miles, he was really,  _ really _ worried about you,” Gwen says, levelling a piercing gaze at her friend. “I don’t...know how you couldn’t see this before, but Peter, he—he cares about you like crazy, you know that, dude? He was the first one to realize that you shouldn’t be alone with your thoughts right now, because he knew you’d be blaming yourself and that makes you reckless.

 

I couldn’t stop him. I tried, but he would have just followed us the second we left. So we let him come with, and we fanned out to look for you.”

 

“Oh,” Miles says softly. “Really?” The idea that his team—his  _ family— _ was out looking for him makes him feel guilty and a bit ashamed, sure. But it also causes a warm spark to flare in his chest.

 

They cared. They cared enough to go looking for him. They cared about him.

 

Gwen takes his hand. “Listen, little dude. We do love you,” she says seriously, like she read his thoughts or something. “We really do. And none of us—least of all, Peter—ever blamed you for what happened to him. We  _ know _ that bad things can happen in this job, and we were all there after your uncle died. You don’t just walk away from something like that and just... _ be okay _ afterwards. We get that, Miles. We do. We understand that feeling, and we’re  _ all _ struggling to move past it.

 

“Except Ham,” she adds as an afterthought. “I have no idea who hurt him.” Miles laughs a little at that, smudging at his wet eyes.

 

“We all know how hard it is to move on,” Gwen continues, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “Especially at first. That’s why we came after you—we knew that you needed to not be alone.”

 

“I wanted to be alone,” Miles mumbles guiltily, looking away.

 

“What people need and what they want are two different things, most of the time,” Gwen says thoughtfully.  _ “Especially _ when it’s us.”

 

Miles thinks about this, and no matter how his bad thoughts try to twist her words, he always ends up at the same conclusion: Gwen’s right.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says with a bitter laugh. “I messed this all up, didn’t I?”

 

“Well,” Gwen says, “I  _ am _ very mad at you for pulling a dumb stunt like that, and we will  _ all _ be lecturing the hell out of you after you’re cleared to get up. Not just one of us;  _ all _ of us. At once.”

 

Miles gulps. He’s not looking forward to that, but he supposes he does deserve it.

 

“You gonna go back to sleep?” Gwen asks him, letting go of his hand and moving to lie down.

 

“Nah,” he responds, withdrawing his hand and resting it on Peter’s, smiling when Peter’s fingers curl instinctively around his own. “I’m gonna wait for this guy to wake up. Got some stuff that we need to talk about, I guess.”

 

Gwen nods and closes her eyes.

 

Miles relaxes, turning his head away and snuggling his face into the soft space between Peter’s chest and stomach.

 

And yeah, okay, Gwen had been right. Peter  _ is _ really soft. Miles can’t help mushing his nose into Peter’s squishy belly just a bit and letting out a tired hum, not, of course, that Peter seems to mind at all.

 

“Hey, Gwen?” he calls sleepily. Gwen hums in response.

 

“What…” he yawns, “what happened...with the Rhino? How am I alive?”

 

“Ah,” Gwen says, then pauses. She suddenly seems tense again. Miles tries to turn to look at her, but Peter makes an unhappy noise and gives him a squeeze, so he doesn’t.

 

“Peter sensed you,” she finally says, slowly. “He went off by himself and the rest of us gathered and went to go look for you both.”

 

“...and?” Miles prompts when Gwen doesn’t keep talking.

 

“And,” she says, drawing in a sharp breath, “we found him. We found both of you, really. Peter located you, but…as far as we can tell, when he got to you, Rhino was standing over you, and you weren’t…weren’t moving…and Peter thought you were. Um. Dead.”

 

“Oh,” Miles whispers numbly, realizing what that must have looked like. “Oh, oh…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

_ “Shit, _ dude.”

 

“I don’t know what happened then. Peter wouldn’t tell us...but when we caught up to him, he was...he’d beaten Rhino half to hell all by himself and...he was standing on his chest yelling about how you’d almost died.”

 

“Oh, gods. Really?”

 

“Yeah, man. And then I pulled him off Rhino, and he yelled your name and went sprinting back to you. Like, legit, he ran up and over the side of a wall of buildings to get to you.

 

And Noir and I went after him, and we saw you, and then  _ I _ thought you were dead and...I dunno, I guess I zoned out or something. But you weren’t dead. Aren’t dead. So I was fine. Am. Am fine.” Except she clearly wasn’t, because her voice cracked on  _ fine, _ and Miles heard her try to muffle a sob.

 

“Pete,” he whispers, pushing at Peter’s arm. “Pete, lemme up, dude. I’ll be right back. I promise.” Peter doesn’t seem inclined to let him go, but Miles is determined to go help his friend. Finally, he worms out from under Peter’s protective arm (which Pete’s clearly not happy about, but whatever, friends are important) and crawls over to Gwen.

 

“Sorry,” she says uselessly, trying to wipe her tears away and be the strong, kickass Gwen she thinks everybody needs her to be all the time. “Sorry, I...I got it, I got this. Sorry.”   
  
“I’m sorry, Gwen,” Miles says earnestly, patting her shoulder. “I didn’t think about...about how it would affect you guys. That was dumb, that was…really,  _ really _ dumb, and. And I’m sorry, Gwen, I’m really sorry. I just didn’t think...about the...I didn’t think you’d...I’m sorry.”

 

Now  _ he’s  _ crying, which is  _ fantastic. _ He’s supposed to be reassuring Gwen, not having his own breakdown right now!  _ Get it together, Morales, you idiot! _

 

It takes a full minute of staring at the ceiling and blinking back tears to get the crying under control, which is unacceptable, he’s not the victim here. He can’t afford to fall apart right now, not when his friend needs him.

 

He can’t afford to fall apart,  _ period. _ Miles is a little hurt, sure, but what’s a little pain compared to what  _ Gwen’s _ been forced to see? Her universe has not been kind to her, after all. 

 

_ Put your pain aside. Let it out later, when nobody’s around. Or better yet, don’t ever let it out.  _

 

So he lets the tears fade and he holds his friend and doesn’t say a word when she squeezes his broken ribs too tight and doesn’t make a sound when guilt and shame make his throat close up.

 

Miles doesn’t say a word. He just lets Gwen cry on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i.....love.....their.....friendship.....
> 
> wow peter you're even a dad in your SLEEP
> 
> (miles u better stop forcing those tears back hunny)


	12. one of the hardest things to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles lets himself cry.
> 
> His family helps him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck i am so sorry this took so long
> 
> i even had it all finished i just had so much to do that updating was.....not.....possible....
> 
> BUT IM HERE NOW AND THATS WHAT COUNTS >:D
> 
> (also miles and b get to interact when theyre both awake and its cute)

Miles wakes up in Peter’s arms, but he doesn’t open his eyes just yet.

 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep earlier, but he guesses that Gwen eventually moved him after she cried herself out. Nice of her.

 

He kind of wants to keep sleeping, honestly. He’s warm and comfortable, and in a lot less pain now. There’s still a few lingering throbs from his leg, but he can sleep through it. His consciousness is pulling him further out of sleep, though.

 

Guess he’s staying awake then. Bummer.

 

Opening his eyes, Miles glances around curiously. Noir’s gone, but Peni and Ham are still curled up together. Gwen is spooning Peni, and her hand rests on Ham’s head.

 

They look really cute, curled up in a ball together. Miles grins tiredly. He’s happy that he was able to help Gwen, even a little bit.

 

The arms around him shift, snuggling him a little closer, and the hand resting over his gives it a squeeze, stroking the back of his hand. The gesture is both tender and familiar, and Miles is shocked to feel a few tears spring to his eyes. Blinking hard, he sniffs and forces them down.

 

(He knows he’ll need to address the tears at some point. He’s been blinking them away for too long, and now they’re rising at even the smallest things, but he doesn’t wanna lose it and cry in front of anybody, that’d be weak and embarrassing.)

 

The body behind him shifts, and a quiet, husky voice whispers, “Miles?”

 

Miles turns his head. 

 

Peter’s eyes are open and brown, and they are liquid soft. 

 

He looks tired and maybe a little sad, but when Miles makes eye contact he brightens, allowing a small, real smile to come to his face.

 

Miles almost starts crying again at the raw, fierce  _ love _ he sees burning in Peter’s eyes. Closing his own eyes, he turns the rest of the way and buries his face in his mentor’s chest, wrapping his thin brown arms around Peter’s ribs. 

 

He can’t cry. He doesn’t want to cry. It hurts not to cry, but he can’t, he needs to  _ wait _ until he can be alone, he doesn’t want to put his problems on anyone else, that’s not their  _ job, _ that’s not their responsibility, that’s not—it’s not—it’s _ not _ —

 

Miles lets out a choked noise. Peter wraps his arms around Miles and rocks him back and forth, slowly. Removing one hand from his back, he places it on the back of the boy’s head, presses it into his chest.

 

“It’s okay, Miles,” he murmurs, voice dropping into the lower register. “It’s okay.”

 

Miles comes undone. He stops caring about responsibility. The pain and the guilt overwhelm him, and he starts to cry, big, wracking sobs that make his whole body shake. Dimly, he is aware of the other people in the bed shifting around, speaking. Peter’s voice rumbles low and deep in his chest. Hands, tentative, warm, and kind, touch his back and rest there, reassuringly.

 

“Get in here, you guys, he needs us,” Peter says, loosening his grip just slightly so Peni can wriggle into the embrace and hug Miles too. Noir’s gloved hand squeezes the back of his neck— _ when did that guy get here? Did he get in and out through the window? _

 

Miles had _ missed _ this. He had  _ missed _ his big dumb spider-family (and his real one, too). When he had left and gone out on patrol, he was trying to atone for the thing that he did, trying to make up for his failure to warn Peter in time because he was stupid and anxious and, and, and- 

 

“No more ‘ands’,” Peter admonishes.  _ Shit, _ had Miles said all of that out loud? “Come on, kiddo, you know I’d never blame you for something like  _ that, _ we’ve all been saddled with PTSD and whatnot. Being a total basket case is part of being Spider-Man.”

 

“Or woman,” Gwen puts in.

 

“Uh huh. The point is, bud, it’s not your fault. It’s _ not. _ I suck at promises but I will make this one to you. I  _ promise _ you, anxiety and PTSD are very real and terrifying problems that people have, and asking you to overcome them even for  _ my _ sake when you’ve barely begun recovery is just...that’s not fair, Miles. It’s not fair to you.

 

“I know you want to be strong all the time,” Peter goes on. “I do. But that’s a burden that should never have been placed on you. Nobody can be strong all the time. There’s no way. So it’s  _ okay, _ Miles,” and here he pulls back and tilts Miles’ chin up so he’s looking Peter in the eyes, “it’s  _ okay _ to let us take care of it every once in a while, because we know we can trust you to do the same for us.”   
  
And isn’t that true, wouldn’t he do the same thing in a heartbeat for any of them? Would  _ he _ blame Peter if he hadn’t warned Miles in time, if Miles had been shot because of it? Of course not, of course Peter still harbors pain over his uncle’s death,  _ of course Miles wouldn’t blame him for that. _

 

...so why should this case be any different?

 

Miles closes his eyes, unable to look at any of them. Someone kisses his temple.  _ Was it Gwen or Peter? _ He doesn’t know. Hands squeeze his hands, words float around his head, voices, reassuring.

 

Crying feels good. It feels  _ good _ to release some of the pain that he’s been trying to keep back since...gods, since his uncle Aaron died. Miles had simply thought this whole time that he was just overreacting, that his brain was being weird like usual.

 

Peter had said that he had PTSD. He’d said that  _ all _ of them have PTSD. And while Miles knows PTSD is bad, he still is so happy to have a reason for why he reacted the way he did.

 

Maybe that’s all he needed: a reason.

 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Miles sobs, with pain, with relief.  _ “I’m sorry.” _

 

And maybe he’s not just talking about what happened with Peter, maybe he’s also talking to the memory of the life in his uncle’s eyes folding into oblivion like a flower at dusk, and Miles unable to do anything to save him, and his dad with a gun pointed at Miles’ back.

 

Maybe that’s it. And maybe it’s not.

 

“You’re damn right it wasn’t your fault,” Peter says fiercely, squeezing Miles so tightly it knocks all the air out of his lungs. “I’m proud of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> congratulation miles u now have 3 dads, 2 sisters, a mom, a grandma, and a weird uncle


	13. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happy afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my. g ods. im so sorry about how long this took there is literally no excuse
> 
> but here i made it extra fluffy for yall please dont kill me :'D

“I hate you, I hate you— _ohhhh my gods I hate you—_ DID YOU JUST BLUE-SHELL ME WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT—”

 

“Because I want to win! I thought shut-ins were supposed to be good at video games!”

 

“The second my hands are free, I’m going to _kill_ you—”

 

 _“Boom!_ Take that!”

 

“Oh m—fucking _why-”_

 

Peni shrieks with laughter, while Gwen is nearly silent, wheezing out little puffs of air as tears stream down her face. Miles cackles as his fingers flick over the buttons and Peter cusses him out from where he’s sitting next to him.

 

Noir points at the screen. “Wait, wait, who’s who again?”

 

“Top screen is me, bottom screen is Peter,” Miles explains patiently. “We’re racing.”  


“And you’re winning?”

 

Miles smiles evilly and mashes a button. On the screen, Peter’s car, which had been coming up behind him, hits a banana peel and spins out of control. This time Peter says a word that makes Ham lean over and smack him across the back of the head.

 

“There are kids here, pal!”

 

“I KNOW, AND THIS ONE’S KICKING MY-”

 

“Peter.”

 

On the screen, Miles’s car whizzes across the finish line. Baby Peach makes happy sounds while Miles leans back, crossing his arms behind his head and giving Peter a long, smug look.

 

Peter slowly turns his head and looks Gwen dead in the eyes. _“Ass,_ Gwen. Miles is kicking my ass. Does the word shock you?”

 

“Shuddup, I’m censoring you for Peni’s benefit,” Gwen teases, dragging Peni into a headlock.

 

“This is censorship of prime content, I’ll have you know,” Peter snipes back.

 

“Wow! What different definitions of ‘prime content’ we have!” Peni says dramatically, opening her big eyes wide and innocent.

 

Peter gasps, offended. “Wow, alright, _rude!_ Hey, hey Noir, collect your kid, she’s attacking me!”

 

“Whaddya want me to do about it?” Noir says through chuckles.

 

“Peni, your dad’s being unhelpful,” Peter says, turning back to Peni.

 

“Deal with it,” is her prompt reply.

 

“Ham, the rest of the B team is double-teaming me,” Peter groans, falling back against the couch cushions.

 

“Okay, one, I can’t help, I’m about to pee myself laughing, and two, just for the ‘B team’ thing you will be getting no help from the Ham on this day!” Ham gasps through bouts of laughter.

 

Peter pouts, then looks over.

 

Miles is laughing so hard he can’t see straight, tears of mirth gleaming in the corners of his eyes, face screwed up in an expression of utter joy.

 

Peter sighs and allows himself a small smile.

 

Sure, eventually they’re all going to have to go back home to their own lives and dimensions, Miles is going to have to come up with some kind of excuse before going home to his parents, and May will be alone in an empty house again.

 

For now, though, they’re all here, with May knocking on the doorframe and getting dinner requests, and half the team on the floor, paralyzed with helpless giggles, and Miles’ cuts and bruises healing as quickly as they ever will.

 

Peter looks up at the ceiling and his smile grows.

 

_Man, I love my family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that concludes this fic! i hope y'all liked it!
> 
> might take a bit of a break from writing spiderverse and try my hand at the property of hate, but spiderverse is my great love in animation and found family tropes, so expect to see more from me in the future!


End file.
